


The Essentials

by aftereighteen



Series: Start/Finish [1]
Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftereighteen/pseuds/aftereighteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world - Ryan's world - enters the post-Phelps era, and Michael has a few words of advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Essentials

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of a 4 part series (which currently doesn't have a title, sorry!)

Michael glanced over his shoulder, but already knew what he’d see: Ryan, stretched out face down in bed, one arm occupying the space which had contained his own torso less than an hour before. As he took a moment to mentally capture and preserve the image of his friend sleeping peacefully, Mike realised that something was missing. With a sigh, he turned back to the desk and scrawled something else on the piece of paper, before folding it neatly and tucking it into an envelope.

Once he’d shouldered his bags, Mike approached the bed, unable to resist brushing his fingers over Ryan’s one last time. He hadn’t considered it as a test, but the older man’s failure to even twitch led Michael to square his shoulders and leave the room, closing the door quietly.

*

The sound of running water wakes Ryan up, and when he comes to enough to realise that he’s alone in a tangle of sheets and pillows, he assumes Mike’s in the shower. A smile spreads across his face at the memory of last night, and the thought of what surely awaits him in the bathroom. Ryan hauls himself out of bed, stretching out his arms and back before sauntering across the room, “Dude, nice of you to warm the water up but...”. As he pushes the bathroom door open and finds the smaller room dark and empty, Ryan stops talking to himself.

He spins around, checking the room, expecting Mike to appear from behind a wardrobe with a goofy grin and a “Gotcha!” But he doesn’t. Ryan’s alone. He scrutinises the room further, eventually spotting that, amongst the tidal wave of crap that is his own, Mike’s stuff has disappeared. He briefly wonders if they were burgled, but he knows straight away that he’s clutching at straws.

Ryan makes it to the window and tugs at one of the curtains, finding the source of the running water he’d heard: rain. Lots of it. Apparently that’s London. It occurs to Ryan that he doesn’t have a jacket. Or a hoodie. Or any way of keeping the rain off himself.

With a sigh he sinks onto the bed. From here, he spots two things Mike’s left behind: his podium jacket and an envelope.

*

_Let’s think about this logically. I think you can do that if you put your mind to it..._

“No,” Michael panted, trying to push Ryan off him. Even though he was bigger than the older man, this was difficult when Ryan was feeling particularly determined, when he had him almost naked and pressed up against a locked door.

“You don’t mean that,” Ryan murmured, nipping Michael’s collarbone. “You want it. You want me. You made me wait this long, we’re done racing, we’re not on taper, it’s time to fuck.”

Michael contemplated aiming a knee at Ryan’s balls, but couldn’t bring himself to be quite that cruel. “No. You said you’d take care of it,” Michael insisted.

“Did I?” Ryan paused, confused. He shrugged. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a spare somewhere in your mass of back up emergency just-in-case gear.”

Michael of course had several condoms available: one in his washbag, one in his deck duffel, one in his wallet, one in his pocket and one that he’d snuck into Ryan’s wallet for good measure. Because the mood took Ryan often and there was never a guarantee that he’d be in the right place at the right time. But that wasn’t the point.

“Dude,” Ryan laughed. “You can pout and bitch all you like, but your body’s giving you away.” He reached down and wrapped his hand around Mike’s hardening dick to ram his point home. “You know I’ll make it worth your while.”

Michael sighed reluctantly, reached into Ryan’s back pocket, retrieved his wallet and pressed the condom into his palm. “Knock yourself out.”

_That you forget these amazes me, because if you’re not swimming, sleeping, eating or risking life and limb, you’re inevitably fucking. I know you know they’re important..._

Michael rammed the pillow over his head with a groan. He’d forgotten what a lie in was. His last day off was 1,217 days previously. It was Saturday, the one time he was allowed an extra half hour to himself in the morning. And, of course, his phone was ringing. For the fifth time.

He answered with a growl, “Who’s died?”

Ryan’s alarmed voice greeted him, “The President for all I care, but I’ll be next if you’ve checked out already and didn’t pick up my passport.”

Michael hauled himself upright, rubbing the back of his head. “Where are you?”

“The fucking airport trying to get to New fucking York for some TV shit, no thanks to you making swimming the most popular sport since fuck knows what,” Ryan thundered. “What the fuck does it matter where I am and why I’m not worshipping at the altar of your body? I need to be somewhere else and I can’t be.”

“Well that’s hardly my fucking fault,” Mike scowled. “I see your damn passport. It’s next to your wallet.”

Mike could hear the cogs turning in Ryan’s head, could visualise him patting his pockets down. Ryan sighed. “Thank fuck for that.”

“Are you coming back for them? I’ve gotta go pretty soon, but I can leave them at the front desk,” Mike offered.

“Dude, they’re calling my flight,” Ryan replied. “You need to bring them to me.”

Mike rubbed his face, letting the idea of all the things he needed – a day off; a massage; a shower; some time off from Being Michael Phelps – wash over him. “No, I don’t,” he grumbled. He got out of bed all the same, scooping his belongings into his bag and locating some clothes. “You need to look after your shit.”

“Please,” Ryan begged. “I’ll make it worth your while...”

Cradling the phone between shoulder and ear, Michael grabbed Ryan’s passport and wallet, confirming, “I’m on my way.”

_How some kid in Bumblefuck, Nebraska hasn’t cleaned out your bank account after finding your wallet in his dad’s cab the morning after, I don’t know..._

“Ryan!” Michael roared from the bathroom. It was late, and Ryan’s limbs ached so much that he didn’t know which was which. How did the great Phelps have the energy to shout? The realisation floated through Ryan’s exhausted brain: he’d beaten the champion today.

“Dude, there’ll be another meet for you to beat me at,” he yawned. “Will you just shut off the light so that I can get some sleep?”

Michael ignored him. “Why the FUCK is it wet?”

“You wanna be a bit more specific?” Ryan hollered back, not sure why he was getting into a fight from his position, spread-eagled in bed with exhaustion.

Michael stormed across to him in fewer strides than Ryan thought possible. He idly wondered if Michael was going for some weird combination of land and water records. That thought stopped short before reaching his tongue, because Mike had come very close to thrusting a toothbrush up his nose.

“Uh. I don’t think that’s where that goes,” Ryan grinned.

“It’s wet!” Mike repeated, nostrils flaring with anger.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, “That’ll be because I brushed my teeth with it. Like you’re supposed to before bed.”

“You what?!” Mike fumed in response.

Ryan wondered if Michael was over-tired. That or the chlorine had finally gotten to his brain. “I brushed my teeth with it,” he repeated slowly. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, it’s not like I wiped my ass with it.”

“Where’s yours? Why’d you use mine?” 

“Mine’s, uh, at home. Been using yours all week,” Ryan shrugged. Mike’s grip tightened on the toothbrush. Ryan laughed, “Because you and I haven’t swapped a little saliva before. Jeez, lighten up!”

He rolled onto his front, still laughing and wrapped his arms around a pillow. “Or does kissing bother you too?”

Michael stalked back to the bathroom muttering, “I’ll bring you a spare next time, shall I?”

Ryan called after him, “I’ll make it worth your while!”

_I don’t doubt that you’ll find another toothbrush to borrow, but just in case, you really should carry one. There’s an endorsement in there somewhere..._

Ryan rummaged through Mike’s luggage, tossing aside items he didn’t want until the other man yelped in shock. Ryan looked over his shoulder to find Mike rubbing his shoulder. His immediate response was to laugh.

“How is that funny?” Michael pouted.

Ryan toppled from his knees onto his side, clutching his stomach as the laughter increased. “You’re pouting. Actually pouting. Like a big, hairy girl.”

Mike lobbed the shoe which had hit him back in Ryan’s direction, exacting revenge by striking his friend’s thigh. Ryan, of course, didn’t flinch. Instead, he composed himself and continued his search.

“And what are you doing?” Mike asked, as he clambered to the end of the bed and peered over the edge to watch, ducked away from other flying objects.

“Looking for some socks,” Ryan replied nonchalantly.

Mike frowned. “Are you trying to get Ricky back for that stunt he pulled in the locker room?”

Ryan paused. “No, I’m cold. But you’re right, I should do something about that too.”

Mike groaned, unable to believe that he’d put a stupider idea in Ryan’s head than whatever was already there. “Socks are in the end pocket,” he supplied. “Did you not bring your own?”

“Dude, I live in Florida,” Ryan replied.

The other man raised an eyebrow, uncertain as to how this explained Ryan’s actions. “I don’t normally need socks.”

He located two pairs and sat back to pull some on. “And now that you’ve given me an idea, I’ll be seeing you later.” He scrambled up and made for the door.

Mike pouted again, this time on purpose. Ryan rolled his eyes and stood in front of Mike. He leaned over and kissed him roughly, thrusting his tongue into the other man’s mouth with no preamble.

“Thanks man, I owe you one,” he said, clapping Mike’s shoulder. He opened the door to leave the room and threw a wink over his shoulder as he left, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

_Remember: not everywhere is 75 degrees minimum and sunny the whole year round..._

At first, Michael didn’t notice Ryan leaning closer. And closer. And closer to him. He didn’t even realise when Ryan’s shoulder bumped against his, not until Matt raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the TV camera in the ready room.

Michael turned to scowl at Ryan, who had a strangely focused look on his face. He wasn’t normally like that, he’d usually be joking around to the point of putting everyone else off. Michael shoved Ryan’s shoulder. “Dude. Some space?” he frowned, though he knew that the concept of personal space was alien to Ryan.

“Huh?” Ryan responded, snapping out of his daze.

“Stop trying to climb into my lap,” Michael hissed.

“I wasn’t!” Ryan protested, causing Matt to snort in disbelief. Ryan couldn’t be bothered to shoot him a dirty look, choosing to pluck one of Mike’s ostentatious headphones from his skull and clamp it to his own ear instead.

“Seriously, what the fuck?!” Michael exploded, though he had finally realised that Ryan had been trying to listen in. “Leave me alone! And since when have you wanted music before a race?”

Ryan let go of the earpiece, watching it almost smack Michael in the eye. “Since always. Every day I listen to music to get me pumped.”

“Not now, you don’t. Not right now,” Michael repeated, confused.

Ryan shrugged, “OK, you’re right. Not right now. But on the way to the pool I do.”

Michael waited, but he already knew what was coming. Ryan looked down at his hands, twisting the strap of his goggles. “I forgot my headphones,” he admitted.

Michael sighed frustratedly. “Every fucking time,” he muttered. “There’s always something with you. How the hell do you make it through the day?”

“Normally with your help,” Ryan stated, rising from his seat as the announcer called them to the deck.

_In fact, I’m amazed you’ve never forgotten a suit. So you’d better add that to the list too, jeah? Just in case. Good luck in Rio._

*

Scrunching the letter up without really thinking, Ryan throws it at the wall. Fuck him, he thinks. Or not, as the case may be. Not anymore. Just in case. In case of what? There wouldn’t be any danger of fucking anyone else. Everyone else was convinced now that they were secretly married or some shit. Ryan could feel that Mike had well and truly gone, snuck out like Ryan was nothing.

Except he wasn’t. The podium jacket caught his eye and he found himself hating the sight of it, hating what it meant. His decision made, Ryan pulls his scattered belongings together, reluctantly tugs on the jacket and leaves the room.


End file.
